Teague sighed as he guided the Lady slowly into the harbour in Dublin by the rapidly dwindling evening light. From the angle of his approach, it was plain to see the manor, built on the cliff overlooking a secluded bay. Ordinarily, he'd have docked in the bay but it was easier to get in and out of the harbour, and he knew he wouldn't be here long.

Once the anchor was dropped and the sails taken in, he changed, shaved and left the ship alone save for Regan following at his side.

The manor was eerie in the twilight, the ivy on the walls snaking around windowsills. Regan had disappeared on the trail of an interesting scent, most likely another dog. It was silent,  the crunch of gravel under his boots the only sound as he made his way up the driveway to the doors of the house.

He slipped inside, the hall lit only by flickering torches. Hesitating, he wondered where everyone was most likely to be, eyes flickering between the staircase leading to the upper floor and the one descending to the basement kitchen.

"Get over yourself, he's not dead yet. The letter will have arrived by now, Edward will be on his way..."

"Edward's just arrived, actually," he said, following the voice upstairs and into the bedroom where Hazel slept.
His mother turned, looking him over, while Hazel's head was buried in her hands.

"You left your aristocrat behind then? Or has she run off?" Eabha asked.

"I'm not here to discuss Roxanne, an' if you want passage to England, you'll keep a respectful tongue in your head," he retorted coldly, crossing to sit beside Hazel on the bed.

With a slight scoff, his mother exited the room. Hazel leaned into him as he put a comforting arm around her shoulders. Her breathing caught as she made an effort to control her sobs, wiping her eyes and nose with the back of her hand.

He held her gently, waiting for her to regain her composure. Sniffling, she looked at him.

"It's not fair. They won't be able to afford a physician an' he won't get better and Blátháin will be all alone. Róisín and Patriach and Colm and the twins won't have their dad and..." she trailed off in an effort to halt the sob she could feel building again.

"I happen to have a very good doctor on my ship, who might well be able to do something when we get there. Try not to worry until we get there and see what we're dealing with. We sail at dawn, let the others know."
Giving her shoulder a last, reassuring pat and placing a brief kiss to the top of her head, he stood up.

His mother was standing looking out through a window as he reached the entrance hall again. "Be on the Lady at dawn. Goodnight." Throwing the words over his shoulder, Teague stepped out of the manor, picked his way across the overgrown lawn and whistled for Regan, returning to the ship.

A cloud of smoke hanging in the air betrayed Soracha's position on the deck before he heard her voice.
"Well, are they coming aboard?"

"Aye, tomorrow." Resting against the railings, he sighed softly. "Poor Hazel's very upset. She's always been close to Blátháin and Cahir."

Stepping over beside him, Soracha laid a hand on his shoulder gently. After a moment, she spoke. "I'm going to check my house is still as I left it and go see Saoirse. You're welcome to come with me."

He thought, then nodded. "Aye, I'll come. C'mon Regan." Falling into step with Soracha, he let his mind flicker briefly to Roxanne, then the sweep of a tongue over his hand pulled him back to the present as he scratched the dogs ears.

He did a quick check of his cottage too, watching Regan scratching the door. "No, we're not staying," he said to him. "No," he repeated more firmly when the dog scratched the door again. "Come on. Come away, time to go."

Soracha reappeared beside him unnoticed, making him jump when she spoke. "All in order?" She exhaled a cloud of smoke into the crisp air.

"Mm hm." Teague affirmed with a nod. "Yours?"

"Aye," she said, starting to walk again.

A comfortable silence settled over them as they slipped into a cluster of trees overlooking the beach. The sky was dark when they stopped by a large, white stone nestled among a tangle of tree roots.

Tenderly, Soracha cleared debris off the stone, her head bowed as she knelt under the tree. The moonlight weakly illuminated her outstretched hand, fingers lightly tracing the word engraved upon the stone.

"The witch who healed me, what did she look like?"

Slightly taken aback by the sudden question, Teague picked at a thread in his cuff, considering his reply before speaking. "Roxanne," he said slowly, "but a very perfect, perfect to the point of distortion, version of her."
He glanced at Soracha. "Why? What did you think she looked like?"

She was silent for a long moment. Her fingers trembled slightly on the stone. "Dark, curly hair, blue eyes, but otherwise an almost mirror image of myself-" she swallowed hard, looking up at him.

His thoughts flashed back to their interaction with Scátha, the fear in Soracha's eyes when she'd woken and the first thing she'd said upon waking. "Saoirse," he murmured slowly, gaze falling on the engraving in the stone.
"You think Scátha appeared to you as Saoirse?"

Soracha nodded slowly. "I...I think so. I think, just like she used Roxanne's form to get under your skin, she was hoping to do the same to me, by appearing as the...as the daughter I never got to meet-" her voice broke abruptly.

Crouching beside her, Teague wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Realising it was the second time he'd done this to comfort someone that evening as he drew her close and held her gently.

"If I ever see Torryn again, I swear I'm going to kill him."

Resting her head against his shoulder, Soracha wiped her eyes. "Not if I kill him first." Her voice, though quiet, was dark and determined.

After a moment, she stood up again, attention lingering on the grave at the base of the tree for a while before she turned away, heading back to the ship.